Friday, 22 September 2017

The
opium fields of Tibet, the cutters hard at work slicing the
un-ripened pods to allow the gum to ooze out. A 1936 Buick makes its
way through the dirt road winding between the fields, guards on
horseback keeping a watchful eye on its progress. Ahead, a
fortress-like temple guarded by four stone lions on plinths. Three
men emerge from the rear of the Buick; one, Li Peng is dragged into
the building by the others.

They take him into a large chamber in
which a multitude of people, both occidental and oriental lounge
around, smoking opium.

Wu,
an oriental man bearing a book of some description comes up, accusing
the newcomer and his brothers of murdering three of their men.
Gesturing towards the smoking man; Li Peng insists he would have done
the same too.

Send three more, he says and they will die too. His
tone suggests his defiance is losing to his fear. As the seated man's
long-nailed fingers select a scrap of meat for his favourite dog, Li
Peng continues his defence – that he already controls the opium
trade across Asia... may no-one prosper, but Ying Ko?. His fields are
tiny by comparison!. Gathering all his courage, Li Peng points a
finger of accusation at Ying Ko directly – if he kills him, he
promises his brothers will avenge his death. Leaning forward, the
seated Ying Ko makes him a promise by way of return; he will bury
them beside him.

'Kill
him.' At Ying Ko's command, his men move to carry it out, but a
desperate Li Peng strikes out, snatching the dagger from his would-be
assassin and taking Wu hostage.

Ying Ko's bodyguards draw their heavy
Webleys, their boss striding out from behind his desk menacingly. Li
Peng threatens to cut Wu's throat, warning Ying Ko's bodyguards
aren't marksman enough to shoot around his hostage. Suddenly
conciliatory, Ying Ko raises his hands in a gesture of supplication;
Li Peng is right – Wu is a wonderful friend, like a father to
him... turning away, he orders his men to shoot through him. The .455
Webley rounds tear through the hapless Wu, killing him and Li Peng
instantly, Ying Ko making a joke in Tibetan, much to the amusement of
the assemblage.

That
night, sleep does not come easy to Ying Ko. Lying in bed with three
of his concubines, he is woken by a mysterious vision, then a shadow
passing overhead.

Arising, he faces the open window, curtains
billowing, to be felled by a single blow from an intruder's fist. He
finds himself tied to horse, kidnapped by agents of the Tulku. Taken
to the Tulku's encampment, he is told the Tulku wishes to see him at
his temple. All he sees is a spartan ger, a tent, but the
mists behind it clear mystically to reveal a splendid sight – a
fantastic gilded temple, steps leading up to the entrance, itself
styled as a golden cobra's mouth.

Fascinated, Ying Ko asks where it
came from, to be told 'The clouded mind sees nothing.'

His
hands untied, Ying Ko is pushed towards the inner sanctum of the
Tulku, a phalanx of monks in attendance, rhythmically beating their
drums and spinning their mani wheels.

A shaking of bells – these
guys must have great parties – and the monks depart, leaving Ying
Ko alone with the barely-visible figure behind a fine silken screen.
Ying Ko asks who this is, to be told 'I'm your teacher.' The voice
that comes to him is deep, remote, as if speaking from the depths of
a well.

Does he have any idea
who he's just kidnapped?. Unexpectedly, the answer comes from behind
him; Cranston... Lamont Cranston. Far
from being an aged wizard, the Tulku has the appearance of a mere
boy. Ying Ko is amazed to discover he knows his real name, but there
is more. The Tulku knows that as long as he can remember he has
struggled against his own black heart.

As
the Tulku speaks, he steps back into the shadows, anticipating the
crude attack that Ying Ko... Lamont Cranston now
launches, the mystical figure transposes
his form to stand across the room. Defiantly, Cranston asserts that
he isn't looking for redemption – but the Tulku has chosen him. He
has no choice; the Tulku will teach him to use his own black shadow
to fight evil.

Reaching for a ceremonial phurba dagger,
Cranston is amazed to see it begin to spin in his hand, before
flipping away as if of its own accord to hover in mid-air.

Leaping
desperately for the dagger, Cranston is left sprawling as it rises
into the air out of reach, before spinning and flashing down to bury
itself into his left thigh. Again the phurba darts, missing his groin
by inches. Seizing the dagger, Cranston is terrified to see the face
of the Bhudda transformed into a snarling demon, razor-sharp teeth
bared in a snarl. Bending at the pommel, the teeth sink into
Cranston's hand, drawing blood!.

Again the phurba attacks, the
terrified American dashing to a pillar for safety. At last, the Tulku
calls the dagger off and, reluctantly, the weapon flies back into his
hand.

Exhausted,
Cranston asks if he is in hell. The Tulku's reply is not promising;
'Not yet...'

A
Ford V8 De Luxe pulls up on a bridge at night, the Gangster Duke
Rollins climbs out, orders his men to fetch his terrified victim from
the car.

Dr. Tam's feet are encased in concrete, as he is dragged to
the rail he swears he will keep his mouth shut – but it was his bad
luck he happened to look down that alley when he did...

Petrified,
Dr. Tam insists he won't talk. Striking a match on his victim's chin,
Rollins agrees; 'Oh, I know you won't.' Blowing the flame out, the
Duke turns his back as his men carry out his orders, Dr. Tam pleading
for his life.

As they heave him over the side, he hangs, screaming in
terror over the dizzying drop to the waters far below. Just then, a
strange, sinister laugh comes echoing through the night; from
everywhere and nowhere.

Panicked by this uncanny intrusion, the
Duke's henchman set Dr. Tam back down on the bridge and pull their
pieces as their boss pulls his gun, to the sound of manic laughter.
By now seriously un-nerved, the Duke tries to point his revolver
everywhere at once.

The voice coming through the night air is
resonant, ethereal;

'You
murdered a Policeman.'

'The
Weed of Crime bears bitter fruit.'

'Did
you think you'd get away with it?'

'Didya
think... I wouldn't know?.'

Desperately,
the mobster empties his pistol into the night, into thin air. Again
that mocking laugh!. Tossing the piece, Duke Rollins dashes to the
car for a bigger weapon; a Thompson. Unloading the tommy gun into the
darkness, everyone else ducks as the rounds fly, richocheting and
sparking off of everything in sight.

The Duke hoses down the whole
area; even raking his own car. Nothing is going to survive a burst
from a 'piano.' Nothing. One of his stooges thinks he got him; so
does the Duke. Right until the night opens and the fist smashes into
his jaw.

'You
committed murder, Duke – now you're going to confess to it.'

Like
hell!; again the wraith materialises from nothingness, again the
fists crash into Duke's flesh and blood body.

'You
will Duke, because if you don't – I'll be there.'

The
ghostly figure hauls Duke clean off his feet, throwing him onto the
roadway.

'I'll
be there... around every corner, in every empty room – as
inevitable as your guilty conscience.'

Defiance,
still; the Duke shouts he isn't scared, but again the blows come. The
eerie voice commands him to turn himself in at the 8th
Precinct House and surrender himself. And he will do it now...
the
gangster is lifted over the rail, to dangle as his victim did so
recently. Hysterically, the Duke agrees to turn himself in and
is unceremoniously flipped over into his own windshield for his
troubles.

Subdued, his two thugs watch in fear as a spectral shadow
looms above them, cast by the figure now standing in the road before
them. In trenchcoat and cloak above high boots, large brimmed hat,
pearl-handled automatics sitting in their twin shoulder holsters, the
man wears a crimson scarf to conceal his features, of which all that
are visible are a prominent nose and a pair of glittering dark eyes
below bushed brows. Not unwisely, the two wise guys make a run for
it.

Alone
with the weird interloper, Dr. Tam lies helpess, his feet encased in
the concrete block, face contorted in fear as the strange figure
approaches and draws the two massive automatics from their holsters.

The barrels lower towards him... and a volley of fire rings out!.
Instead of death, however, Dr. Tam looks down to find the concrete in
pieces, his feet freed. A be-ringed and gloved hand reaches down as a
Sunshine Radio cab pulls up, its rear door opening as if by magic.

At
the simple command 'Drive'the
car pulls away, Tam thanking his saviour than asking to be dropped
off. As if he had never spoken, the unearthly voice states that he
is Dr. Roy Tam, a Professor in the Science Department at NYU.

'I
saved your life, Roy Tam – it now belongs to me.'

As the
bemused Dr. Tam listens in the back of the speeding cab, the stranger
tells him he will become one of his agents, like dozens of others all
over the World. Can he ask his wife about this?; no!. He goes on; Mr.
Shrevnitz here – the Cab Driver – will instruct him in the ways
in which he will contact him should he need his help.

When he hears
one of his agents say 'The Sun is shining.' he will respond; 'But the
ice is slippery.'

This will identify them to each other. To make sure
he understands, the mysterious figure goes through it with him. Dr.
Tam has one question; how did he know what was happening to him?, who
he was?. This elicits a ring of laughter from both the man in the
scarf and the Cabbie, as if it were a joke.

'The
Shadow knows... hahahahahaha!.'

Finally,
the cab skids to a halt and Dr. Tam alights, Moe Shrevnitz exiting
with him. Tam is amazed to have met the Shadow – there's always
talk of him in the papers, on the radio, but he never thought he
existed. Slipping a ruby-coloured ring onto the scientist's finger,
Shrevnitz tells him he does'nt – geddit?. The Cabbie taps
his own head in emphasis, revealing he is wearing an identical ring
and cautioning Tam to never remove his. So who is he?. Showing the
ring he wears, Moe replies he's somebody who owes the Shadow his
life, somebody just like you...

Leaving
Dr. Tam to consider the bizarre turn his life has just taken, the cab
speeds off through the city at breakneck speeds. This is clearly no
ordinary hack. As he drives, concern shows on Moe Shrevnitz's earnest
features.

The
Cobalt Club is class all the way; from the cobalt-blue silk lining
the stage to the torch singer on it.

An Art Deco temple. Dancers fill
the floor, elegant, refined. The club is hopping, full of the
beautiful people, lit tastefully with touches of cobalt blue
everywhere.

Lamont Cranston walks in, dressed for the occasion.
Spotting his Uncle Bartholomew 'Barth' Wainwright, the Police
Commissioner alone at his table, he joins him, apologising for his
lateness. An accident on the bridge.

His Uncle hasn't wasted time
getting around his prime ribs, however. A waiter brings Lamont his
favourite drink and Uncle Wainwright has a bone to pick; he invites
him to dinner and shows late. Lamont apologises, but his attention is
captivated by the dream that has just breezed in.

Tall, blonde, silk
dress. His Uncle hasn't noticed her; he wouldn't mind if Lamont had
something to do, a job for instance. It's unseemly – a man of his
age – and why is he talking to the back of his neck?.

His
Uncle has never meddled in his affairs, even when he went missing for
those seven years after the war. Just then, an urgent message is
handed to Barth; is the cops and robbers business slowing down?. It's
another report about that Shadow character. His Uncle is sick of the
Shadow meddling in Police affairs. This time tomorrow, he'll put a
task force on him. Suddenly, Lamont is engulfed in shadow and The
Shadow's resonant, hypnotic tones ring out.

'You're
not going to appoint a task force...'

As if
dismissing the idea himself, Uncle Barth agrees; he's not going to
appoint a task force.

'You're
not going to pay any attention to these reports of The Shadow...'

Chewing
his food, Barth is in favour; 'Ignore them entirely...'

'These
aren't the droids...'

Sorry.
(I'm never sorry.) The Shadow convinces his Uncle that there
is no Shadow and he comes out of it as if shaking off a headache.
Where were they?; cheekily, Lamont jerks a thumb over his shoulder
towards the girl – you were telling me who she is, he tells
him.

Handily, Barth knows she's Margo Lane, her father is a scientist
working for the War Department. Miss Lane sits elegantly, smoking.
Also, she's smoking a cigarette... calling a waiter over, Lamont
whispers something in his ear. Uncle Barth warns Lamont off her,
she's strange – hears voices. Miss Lane is ready to order, but
before she can say 'Mouton Rothschild '28.' the wine waiter has
produced a bottle. As the label's laughably wrong and it's already
been uncorked I'd avoid it like the plague... but did they ask me?.
They did not. She asks and is told who it came from. Miss Lane lets
the man pour, looking up to see Lamont standing there.

Introducing
himself, he sits and, reading her thoughts sees she has a craving for
Peking duck. He suggests the same and she is amazed. Does she care to
join him?...

Lamont
orders in Mandarin, his fluency impressing Margo. They are seated in
a Chinese restaurant he happens to know. Isn't he full of surprises?.
Then, something strange*; she thanks him for the complement – she
had the dress made at Adrian's. He didn't make any complement, but he
was thinking it. Taken aback, Margo states that hasn't
happened to her for a long, long time. When she was a little girl she
could read her cousin Harry's thoughts, pick them right out of his
head.

The look on Lamont's face tells her something might be wrong,
but he denies it. After all, what harm could a mind-reader do to
someone with his secrets?. Gaily, he dismisses the thought, reaching
for his glass.

*It's
all relative.

The
Sunshine cab drops Margo off at her place. Standing on the pavement,
the two elegant people take their leave after their night out. She
thanks him for a wonderful time, whilst he can't recall an evening as
– stimulating. As they drive away, Moe tells his boss he likes her;
she's different to his usual dames. More than she knows... She
has abilities she's completely unaware of. Sadly, that makes it too
dangerous to see her again.

The
Cranston mansion; think the Château
de Blois in New York.

Lamont Cranston lies dozing in a comfortable
chair before the fire, his glass of brandy still in hand.

Suddenly,
the fire billows out to take the form of a man's face, laughing in
defiance. The brandy in the glass is set afire and the glass
explodes, Lamont bursting into wakefulness as the fiery apparition
retreats into the fireplace. The omen is clear; Someone's
coming...

The
New York Museum of Natural History.

The curator is called to the
loading bay to find an unusual delivery; what
looks to be a
metal
Tibetan
mummy case. His harassed assistant thought it might be a sarcophagus,
but Tibetan sarcophagi are made of stone. Along
with a security guard, the two examine the ornately-worked case.

Clearly a mistaken delivery as nothing is known about it. The curator
is taken aback to find the coffin is made of solid silver. Ordering
the sides of the packing crate removed, the curator translates
a Latin inscription now visible.

The
power of God on Earth, the seal of the Emperor of mankind. This
is the silver coffin of Temujin!. The assistant asks the question for
us, to be told he was the man who nearly conquered the globe eight
centuries ago. And how come we've never heard of Temujin?; because it
was the birth name of Ghengis Khan. The
Curator must make some calls, find out where it came from –
un-nerved, the assistant offers to come with him. The curator's
parting instruction to Nelson, the security guard; don't open it.

Once
he is alone, Nelson begins to whistle, himself somewhat nervous.
Sitting at his little desk, he hears a noise from inside the coffin.
Approaching it, he is startled when one of the clasps securing it
pops open. Drawing his pistol (!) he reaches a hand out to close it,
but it snaps shut of its own accord. Then it happens again, then
another clasp opens and, before he knows what's what, all of them are
manically opening and closing. Its as if the damned thing were alive.
Shaking ominously, the coffin suddenly opens, an armoured figure
standing challengingly within.

Reaching a hand up to the faceplate,
the sinister figure pulls it away and savours its first breath of
American air.
A
pair of dark eyes, mesmerising, hypnotic. This
is Shiwan Khan.

'Join
me... or die.'

Handy he
speaks English, eh?. He repeats the words and, nervously the guard
informs him he's on private property. Khan can tell his mind is weak*
and commands him to fall to his knees, which he does. (Don't panic,
it's not an 18 Certificate) Next, the Mongol warlord commands him to
put his gun to his own temple.

*So
could my neighbour's cat, to be fair.

'Sacrifice
yourself – to me.'

With the
words 'Yes, my Khan.' The guard pulls the trigger (Well, it was for
the best) and the Curator and assistant hear the shot, at which they
come running. Khan
has cleverly concealed himself in plain sight among the exhibits.
Turning
his head as if on some sixth sense, the Curator sees nothing, but
mannequins. Khan is gone.

The
Federal building. Inside, two Marines, one smaller than a house,
guards the office of Reinhardt Lane, War Department Research and
Development. Inside, Farley Claymore paces the laboratory, while Lane
sits at his bench working.

Claymore insists he's through with the
beryllium sphere apart from underwater pressure testing. Lane insists
he is doing energy research; he's not interested in any military
applications. So why did he let the War Department pay all the
bills?; because he let Farley talk him into it. Claymore says Lane
doesn't think big – if he'd listen to him the world could be their
oyster. Professor
Lane tells him Oysters give him a rash. Undaunted, Farley leaves,
snapping the two Marines a jaunty salute. As he walks towards the
elevator it discharges Margo Lane, in her silk number again. All
smarm and oily charm, Farley tries to waylay her, but she adroitly
evades his clutches.

Ducking back in front of her, he asks when she's
going to come down to look at his beryllium sphere. She's not
interested in his spheres.Trying
yet again, he wags a finger in mock admonition; she doesn't return
his calls any more. Well, that's not true, she says – she never
returned them in the first place. Taking him by the chin, the
dazzling blonde tells him sweetly; 'It's because... I don't like
you.' With that, she sashays off to her father's office.

Inside,
father and daughter greet each other, Reinhardt offers her a
sandwich, but she's eaten; it's two a.m. Noticing his red shirt, she
asks where he got it. He reminds her she always said he looked good
in green; he's colour blind – she picks up his green cup to
emphasise. Going to slouch in a chair, she asks him if he believes in
telepathy.

Mind-reading?; he's a scientist. Idly playing with an
apple from her dad's uneaten dinner, she says she's always felt an
indescribable connection out there, just waiting for her. And
suddenly tonight, there it was. Distractedly, Reinhardt replies;
'That's nice. What was it?.' A man, and she's probably never going to
see him again. But
why not?. She
just knows – it was if she knew what he was feeling. And now, she's
completely and utterly depressed. Without looking up from his work,
her father responds; Well,
that's nice, dear.

The
taxi pulls up in a quiet part of town, by
an empty site. All that's left is the sign. the
cabbie noting
down the destination. His passenger, Shiwan
Khan
demands to know why; Taxi Commission rules. Looking over to see a
small gas station is taking a delivery, the Mongol warlord uses his
fluence on the cabbie, suggesting he needs fuel. Looking without
seeing, the mesmerized man looks at the full fuel gauge and sees
empty.

Thanking Khan,
he puts his pencil behind his ear and drives into the gas tanker with
a smile. It must be his lucky day, he thinks, as the cab hits home.
With a roar of laughter, the
Mongol
strides across to the empty lot; standing as if admiring it.

Daylight.
The Museum of Natural History. Cops and a photographer do their jobs,
Barth Wainwright
arrives to be told Inspector Cardon is in charge, the Sergeant
pointing the way, his hand sporting a rather attractive and familiar
ring.

Ambling over to the empty case that until recently houses a
silver coffin, the Sergeant slips away un-noticed, through the busy
crowds to a nondescript building housing offices. In a plain-looking
hallway, he goes to a door marked 'B. JONAS' and slips a note into
the letter box.

This is no ordinary letter box; the note slides into
a Lamson
tube mounted on the other side, the
capsule whizzing through the pipe, round a bend and out of the
building.

Dizzyingly, we see the progress of the capsule through what
turns out to be an improbably long and convoluted pipework running
between and around buildings, until it
pops out into the tray at the end. It has come to rest in a control
room, of sorts.

The be-ringed operative manning the message tubes
extracts the message and presses a button
to summon The Shadow.

In his
dressing room, Lamont Cranston's ring begins to glow (Keep your minds
out of the gutter, kids) and he leaves the room, galvanised by the
alert.
Across town, Moe Shrevnitz is in his cab with a fare; a well-heeled
couple in back sitting, rigid with fear. His ring is glowing; he's
needed. Screeching to a halt, he orders them out; the man actually
thanks him, pleased to be in one piece.

Trotting down his steps,
Lamont tells Moe to go to the Sanctum. Alighting in Times Square,
Cranston checks he isn't being followed as he walks into an alleyway.
Going around the corner, he walks up to a steel stair way and
casually pushes a girder angle to activate a hidden mechanism.

A
grating drops away in sections to form steps, the wall sliding back
suddenly to form a doorway. Inside, he flips another lever to close
the whole ingenious contraption behind him.

Descending an iron
staircase into his sanctum, the iron shutters guarding its secrets
rise to admit him. Going to a sophisticated control panel, he
activates a fantastic device, a tele-viewer, enabling him to speak to
the agent at the control room.

The agent reports; their agent
in the 26th Precinct reports a murder at the Museum of
Natural History and advises inquiry. Shutting off the futuristic
gizmo, Lamont considers the information carefully, but then notices
he is not alone; Temujin stands on his stairs. He introduces himself
as Shiwan Khan, last descendant of Ghengis Khan.

He tells the
confused Cranston not to feel obligated to introduce himself; he
knows who he is – and not this, temporary version of himself. He
knows who he really is; at the name Ying Ko, Cranston,
startled, cannot help but stare. Shiwan Khan is, he declares, a great
admirer. Lamont doesn't know what he's talking about. Khan smiles at
this; it was no more difficult for him to invade his mind than this
room. Striding through to the comfort afforded by a roaring fire and
comfortable leather chairs, Khan seats himself and Cranston follows
suit.

Shiwan Khan claims his
feelings are hurt – he would have thought Cranston would welcome
the opportunity to meet another with the ability to cloud men's
minds. Lamont realises he is talking to another student of the Tulku.
Khan tells him the Tulku spoke of Lamont constantly, but wasn't as
able to turn him so easily. Affably, Khan asks if Lamont happens to
have some American bourbon. He is happy to pay... but Lamont won't
hear of it. , going to get the drinks.

Genially, he asks if his
guest happened to pay a visit to the museum last night. Yes, a
wonderful collection of Tibetan tapestries. They clink glasses and
Khan continues his reminisce; grown men still shudder at the name
Ying Ko; he is, he confesses, his idol. He studied his raid on the
village of Bargo. Lamont confesses, it rings a bell. It was a
masterstroke insists Khan. Swift, vicious and sudden!.

So, asks Lamont, what brings
Khan to the Big Apple?. His destiny; Ghengis Khan conquered half the
known world in his lifetime. He intends to finish the job. If he told
him how it wouldn't be a surprise. He travelled to this country in
Ghengis Khan's holy crypt, absorbing his power. In three days, the
world will hear his roar – and willingly subject to the lost empire
of Sianking. The would-be conqueror's thoughts turn to the sartorial
with a question on where Lamont got his tie; Brooks Brothers, 45th
and Madison. When Lamont calls Khan a barbarian, he takes it as a
compliment. They both are – inside him Khan knows beats a heart of
darkness.

Grabbing Lamont to pull him closer, he says he dips into
that heart every time he dons the hat and cloak. Join me, he says –
you are Ying Ko, the butcher of Lhasa. You and only you deserve to
be by my side... wrenching away, Lamont is confronted by Khan,
who has used his training from the Tulku to good effect.

Suddenly, Shiwan Khan reaches
for something, something metallic. With his heel, Lamont presses a
hidden switch at which a tray pops from the wall, an automatic in his
hand in a flash. Instead of a weapon, a Chinese coin spins in
mid-air, to be caught by Cranston. Of Khan there is no sign save his
voice; For the bourbon. We will meet again, soon. Closing his
fist around the coin, Lamont feels it to be charged with mystical
energy.

An elaborate floor seen from
above, patterned with gilded Chinese mozaic. Almost part of the
pattern, Shiwan Khan's ornate cloak as he prostrates himself, rising
to his knees to proclaim the day of the Mongol warrior is again at
hand.

Surrounding him are such warriors, armoured, kneeling
Samurai-style. (Well, it looks good on the screen; go with it...)
Soon, with wings outstretched – we fly to our destiny!. This
prompts much roaring and spinning of swords.

At the Tam home, Mrs. Tam
pours coffee as her distracted husband listens to the news on the
radio; another report of the elusive Shadow.

She thinks it's all a
gimmick dreamed up by the radio people, but he eyes the ring Moe gave
him and knows better. The doorbell gives him a chance to evade her
questions and there, standing on his doorstep is Lamont Cranston,
face veiled in shadow.

The sun is shining. But the ice is
slippery. Dr. Tam thinks this to be an agent of the Shadow, but
Lamont merely replies 'Who?.' and Dr. Tam gets it, winking to show
he's on the same page. Lamont needs a metal analysis of the Chinese
coin he got from Shiwan Khan.

At Dr. Tam's lab, he pours a
liquid onto the coin, which fulminates and bubbles dramatically,
breaking the petri dish. Bronzium – the metal is Bronzium, he
didn't believe it even existed. Setting the disc under his
microscope, he explains the ancient Chinese thought Bronzium the
fabric of which the Universe was formed.

The Doctor asks after its
origin, to be told Sianking. This makes sense; Tam reveals according
to the legends, Sianking was called the birthplace of the World.
Lamont asks if it could conceivably be used to make some sort of a
weapon, which sparks a fear in the doctor's mind; theoretically,
yes... he rushes to one of his weighty textbooks. Bronzium is
unstable at the molecular level, constantly given to expansion. Only
the cell bonds hold this expansion back, but if this bond was ever to
be breached... an explosion?; no, says the Doc, but if the power of
the cell was to be turned back on itself in an implosion,
there would be an explosion. How Big?; Dr. Tam cannot say, but the
breakdown would spread to all levels of the cell's atomic
construction. Fashioned into a bomb, the effects would be –
catastrophic. An implosive-explosive sub-molecular device. Grimly,
Lamont has another name for it; an atomic bomb. Hey, says the Doc –
that's catchy... but the bomb would have to have a beryllium sphere
to contain the apparatus – no other metal would be able to contain
the blast. None of this is possibly anyway, unless some genius
figures out how to design and make it. Going to his blackboard, he
erases his workings to draw a crude representation of the very sphere
Reinhardt Lang is working on at this very moment.

In his own sanctum, Shiwan
Khan kneels before an altar, incense burning. Closing his eyes, he
claps his hands, once, uttering an incantation as old as the planet.
As the words assume their magical aspects, the very fabric of the
tapestry behind the altar begins to change, move to assume new form.

The very design of the tapestry now released, it floats out above
him, wraithlike, ethereal, before returning into place. A name has
come through to Shiwan Khan; Reinhardt Lane. Projecting his
consciousness into the night, he repeats the name over and over,
sending his influence out through the city until it settles upon the
laboratory of Reinhardt Lane himself.

He is still at work, pacing the
lab, working to perfect the beryllium sphere. Finally, he hears the
preternatural voice and, under its spell, opens the doors to the
balcony outside the lab.

It is as if Lane were sleepwalking as he
goes out along the terrace to stand facing a cigarette advertisement
on the roof of the building opposite.

The happy smoker depicted on
the billboard blows rings of real smoke and, as if on cue, Reinhardt
reached for a pack of Llamas, lights one. Suddenly, the happy smoker
is gone, replaced by the image of Shiwan Khan, calling his name. Deep
under, Lane responds as if drugged. Yes, my Khan...

The band is playing up a storm
at the Cobalt Club. Over his steak, Uncle Wainwright is back on
subject number one; why a man with nothing to do is constantly late
for every little engagement. Practice, replies an amused Lamont –
lots and lots of practice. Ever the playboy. Just then, Margo Lane
comes storming up; demanding to know what the Commissioner is doing
about her father.

His secretary made it clear; there's nothing they
can do unless... unless what?, he blows himself up?. On the
ropes, the old man introduces his nephew. They've met.

Politely,
Lamont takes her coat and invites her to their table. She's in a
rather fetching velvet number. Dark green, emerald and diamond
ear-rings setting it off to perfection. Again, Wainwright tells her
it's not a police matter. She says her father has decided suddenly to
take no visitors, even her. Chances are, Barth thinks, it's something
Top Secret for the Government. No, she says, his research is
harmless; some kind of implosive device. At the magic word
'implosive', Lamont is all ears. That's why, she continues she knows
something wrong. They spoke on the phone and he seemed distant,
confused. He spoke to her in Chinese. He doesn't even speak
Chinese!. Defeated, the Commissioner promises to send a Policeman
over tomorrow to check things out. Margo asks Cranston's opinion.
Cranston is gone.

Spotting Lamont leaving, Margo
chases after him as the familiar Sunshine Radio Cab pulls up outside.
As he turns, she pulls back, something in his gaze un-nerving her. He
has to go. Desperately, out of nowhere at all, she cries out a name;
Ying Ko. Even as she speaks the name, she doesn't know it.

Going back
across the pavement, Lamont takes the girl by the arm and at once his
face is in shadow. You will forget about me. Why would
she do that? She replies, bemused. You will give me no further
thought. Is he drunk?. Unsettled by the failure of his
ability to cloud minds, Cranston gets in back of the cab and orders
Shrevnitz to take him to the Federal Building.

As he drives, Moe
watches in the mirror as his boss transforms into The Shadow. The
taxi rushes onward through the rain-flecked night.

Ahead, in the laboratory,
Reinhardt Lane carefully places the beryllium sphere into a box
marked War Department. Outside, the two Marine guards debate food
choices when the unexpected arrival of the lift at the far end of the
corridor has them reaching for their holsters. The lift appears empty
and their conversation continues.

Right up to the part where the
crossbow bolt thuds home into the larger Marine's chest. Before he
can comment or react, the Sergeant has one in his too. Both men fall,
dead, to the floor. Lane is preparing to leave when a fully-armoured
Mongol warrior steps into the lab, demanding the sphere in Chinese.
Dazed and robot-like, the scientist obeys, but a sudden peal of
laughter interrupts proceedings.

Going out to the balcony, the Mongol
searches for the source of the uproarious laugh, but sees nothing.

A
gloved hand slaps down on the warrior's helmet and he is hauled up by
his chinstrap. Desperately, the warrior flips the Shadow over his
shoulder – the latter rolls to his feet.

Drawing his sword, the
Mongol attacks furiously, but the caped crime-fighter manages to
knock the weapon from his grasp. The two grapple desperately.
Possessed of immense strength, the warrior forces Lamont over the
parapet and he gets a good look at the street far below. Heaving with
all his strength, the Shadow sends them both over the edge, falling
together, the Mongol below – until a stone eagle checks their
descent, crushing the warrior and saving the Shadow, who jokes Next
time, you get to be on top.

Meanwhile back in the lab...
Reinhardt stands statue-like as a group of Mongol warriors enter,
searching for their colleague. They ready their weapons, aware
something isn't right. Moving around the lab and its stupefied
occupant, the largest (And most Caucasian) of the Mongols suddenly
gets a fist in the face as the Shadow materialises then vanishes into
the air itself.

Another thug goes flying onto an equipment bench,
then a third... three down... two more take back-fists to the face
and yet more are down (More in fact than were there in the first
place...) Finally, the large Mongol (Still American) picks up a handy
torch and follows the progress of one of his stooges as he is
systematically relieved of his teeth. Suddenly, the flash throws the
shadow of... well, the Shadow against a wall. Calling up one of his
men, he has him fire a crossbow bolt at the shadowy Shadow's shadow,
then another, pinning him.

The others begin to rally at a call from
their large colleague as, incredibly, the Shadow emerges from his
shadow into the light to stand there defiantly against the odds.
Well, aside from the guns, that is...

As the Mongol reloads his
crossbow, the Shadow draws his automatics and blazes away, dropping
them left and right. The remaining Mongols bundle Reinhardt out of
the lab while one pursues the Shadow back out onto the balcony,
ending up hanging off it with only the Shadow's grip stopping him
from taking a long fall with bad prospects.

Where is Khan? Demands
the crime-fighter; but he prefers death, to serve his Khan with it
rather than talk. Wriggling free, he falls. Hilariously, Moe is down
on the street reading 'Developing Your Psychic Ability' – and
senses someone is coming.

He's right; the book's a winner!. Getting
back into his cab, he finds the Shadow already in back. Drive...

Margo is just returning home
when the phone rings; it's her Father. He needs to see her right
away, he says – but he is being controlled by Shiwan Khan as he
speaks. He needs her at the lab right away, she should hurry. Doing
as she is asked, Margo arrives at the lab. Finding the Marine guards
dead, she hurries in, fearing the worst. Electricity sparks from
broken equipment and a few small fires are burning, the bodies of the
vanquished Mongols littering the place. Out on the balcony, she
approaches the Llama cigarettes sign and comes under Khan's
influence.

In Khan's sanctum, Margo
stands still as a statue as Khan runs his hands over her*, examines
her as if she was a horse he was interested in buying.

Reinhardt Lane
stands dumbly beside, holding a box which he opens for Khan to take a
target pistol**. Loading it, he hands it to Margo. He has a mission
for her.

*And actor John Lone, playing
Khan got paid for this!.

**A .50 calibre Remington
Rolling block, for the record.

At home, Lamont Cranston dabs
some alcohol on his wound from the crossbow bolt that pierced his
shoulder. The creak of a stair alerts him as Margo slowly ascends.

She opens his door, raises the pistol, taking careful aim at the
defenceless Lamont and shoots... the mirror he placed to dupe her.

She enters the room, still holding the empty pistol. Coming around
behind her, he takes the pistol from her, her hand remaining
outstretched as if it still held the weapon.

Using his power, he
breaks her out of her spell by saying her name. She is totally
unaware of her actions; when he demands to know who sent her, she can
only recall the voice in her head telling her she had to kill the
Shadow. Putting his shirt on, he wants her to leave, but she realises
who Lamont Cranston really is; she had to kill the Shadow and she
came – here. She wants to look into his eyes, when he turns she
sees they are the dark eyes of the Shadow. With the thrill of
recognition she knows know why she felt there was something unusual
about him. Look into my eyes – you won't like what you see, he
tells her, but she is tingling all over to know his secret identity.

As his eyes return to their normal state, she tells him of her
father's disappearance; he is the only one who can help her. Just
be gone when I get back, he snarls, but, breathlessly she stops
him opening the door to leave. How does he know she won't tell
anyone?. But this is the Shadow – and he knows. He leaves. Ordering
Moe to go to the Sanctum, the cab pulling out of the gates. Neither
Moe nor his boss spots the cab following them, a Mongol warrior in
the back.

Walking the short distance to
the alleyway, Lamont pauses ostensibly to adjust his Homburg, but he
looks in a car mirror to see the Mongol following. Not the most
discrete of followers. Ducking into an alley, Lamont disappears into
shadow, the Mongol sees nothing and walks on, into Chinatown.

Now
Lamont is the follower, tracking the armoured figure as he makes his
way to a kitchen. Lamont follows
him upstairs to a run-down dump of a Chinese eaterie. There's only
one customer, busy filling his face. Shiwan Khan. Dressed in a
suit, he sports the same exact tie Lamont wore on their first
meeting, which Lamont complements him on. Cordially, Khan invites him
to share his table.

Seated, Cranston accuses Khan
of sending Margo to kill him. Kill him?; if he wanted him dead, he'd
have his liver on a pole by now. He sent the girl to be killed
and he wants to know how Lamont killed her. He tells Khan she's alive
– Khan feels this is a danger to him, but Lamont tells him he's
onto him; he still doesn't have the beryllium sphere.

You
Americans are so arrogant, you think your meaningless, decadent
country is the new cradle of civilisation, but let me tell you
something... Hey, that's the U.S of A. you're talking about... I
am talking about ruling the World!. Lamont offers him the name of
a brilliant psychiatrist Leonard Levinsky; he'll talk and Leonard
will listen... but Khan explodes, shouting that Lamont is boring him.
He slams down a familiar knife with a thud, between the American's
fingers; the Phurba, snarling as ever. Oh, that knife...

Khan took the Phurba from the
Tulku. No, he corrects himself – he took it out of the Tulku
after he ran it through his heart. When will you learn to listen
to your instincts?... Instincts?; Lamont offers to show Khan his
instincts, grabbing the dagger and going for him.

The dagger refuses
to budge towards its new master, snarling and causing Lamont great
pain. Never did master the Phurba, did you?; still expect it to
respond to brute force. Lamont sits back down in agony, the
Phurba slides across to its master's hand. A Mongol appears, clapping
a pistol to Cranston's head. Khan comments that what Mongol Warriors
lack in intellect they make up for in loyalty. There is no light
without shadow, and you and I are that shadow... again, he
appeals to Cranston to join him.

Khan rambles on, giving Lamont
time to use his powers to invade the mind of the pistol-toting
Mongol. (Why Khan doesn't spot any of this is a mystery.) Just as
Khan is telling him his mind is like an open book, Lamont snarls back
he should learn to read, causing the Mongol to toss him the pistol.
Overturning the table, Khan rams the Phurba into the compromised
warrior's chest, taking the dying man's sword and running to the back
of the room to draw his own pistol even as Lamont takes aim.

Both men
fire – two bullets hurtle through the air between them –
incredibly, the rounds strike each other in mid-air, falling to the
ground. Dashing to the window, Khan shatters it with a shout of
mystical power, diving through it and landing on his feet on the
ground below. (!) Lamont takes the stairs.

Outside, the crowd scatters as
a Mongol rides up on a motorcycle combination, tricked up with an
ornate Chinese-style sidecar. Khan jumps in, clutching his phurba and
the bike roars off.

Leaping into his taxi, Lamont orders Moe to tail
them, the Cord screeching off in pursuit, but the motorcycle combo
has just vanished into thin air. Suddenly, Lamont senses something,
telling Moe to stop by the empty lot Khan was dropped at earlier.

Walking over to the lot, Lamont is joined by Moe, who observes the
obvious; it's just an empty lot. Forced to concede, Lamont walks back
to the cab, unable to shake the feeling he gets from the place.

Returning to his mansion,
Lamont finds Margo asleep in his chair before the fire. Waking, Margo
says that she can't help knowing what she knows about him. Standing,
she goes to him, irresistible.

Somehow, he manages toresist, telling her
it's late. He says she's welcome to one of the guest rooms, but in
the morning she should go. She tells him she's not afraid of him.
Placing a hand gently on her cheek, he replies But I am...
displaying more self-control than an entire monastery, he goes to
bed, alone.

Sleep does not come easily to
Lamont Cranston, sitting up in bed at the sound of a woman's voice
calling his name. It's not Margo; she's sound asleep in her bed.
Going to her room, he sees this and goes to the mirror, something's
wrong with his face. Reaching into his skin, he pulls at it, finding
it has become a mask. Tearing the mask away he reveals the face of
Shiwan Khan!. Margo has awoken, sitting up in bed to scream with
terror. Lamont himself now sits bolt upright in bed, the dream over.

Morning. Fully dressed, Lamont
walks into Margo's room to find her still sleeping, beautiful as ever
in a satin nightdress. She tells him she dreamed. So did he, asking
to hear her dream first.

She was dreaming she was naked on the beach
in the South Seas (I'm having a similar dream right now) and the sun
was beating down – her skin felt hot and cool at the same time. She
rubs her hands over her body just so we get the idea... who else is wondering how much better this scene would have been with the late John Belushi?. How was his dream, she asks?;
he dreamed he tore all the skin off his face and was somebody else
beneath. She tells him he has problems. Gallantly he says he will
wait outside while she dresses, but she says he can stay. Her dress
is all rumpled; luckily he has some dresses in the wardrobe. He shows
her one, claiming it belonged to his 'Aunt Rose'. When she shoots him
a look, he adds she was very fashionable. And she kept her figure,
observes Margo wryly, ducking behind a screen to dress.

Lamont has to go; he has a
Taxi waiting downstairs?, Lamont is pulled up short as she
finishes his sentence. She sensed that's what he was going to say.
It's easier the more she's around him; he's like reading a book.
Thanking him, she says she won't need that taxi – he disagrees; he
has an important meeting, but she's happy to come. He recalls they
agreed she would leave – she doesn't recall any such thing. They
need each other, she says. No, they don't, says he. They have a
connection, she says. No, we don't, says he. Then how does he explain
her reading his thoughts?. His thoughts, he tells her are hard to
miss; psychically he's very well endowed. She'll bet. Okay; he
doesn't need her, but she needs him – and she is coming with
him. Somehow Aunt Rose wouldn't have looked as good in that number...
seeing Margo in it sways the day and Lamont agrees.

The Empire State building. On
the viewing deck, Reinhardt Lane stands, hypnotised next to Shiwan
Khan.

Pointing out a wide swathe of Manhatten, Reinhardt explains
that is the blast radius of the device. The destruction will be –
incalculable. Some sailors from the U.S.S. Texas on shore leave pass,
one making a joke about Khan's 'dress'. Eyeing the sailor intently,
Khan takes control of him, forcing the terrified man to climb the
safety rail, standing on the very edge.

His shipmates and the other
sight-seers spot him and ask what he's doing; he has no idea, he
says, pleading with them to get him down. Khan forces him to jump, the poor wretch falling to a horrible death.

Down below, Lamont tells
Margo it's all falling into place (!), all Khan needs is the
beryllium sphere to complete the bomb. At the words 'Beryllium
sphere', Margo stops him; Farley Claymore, her father's assistant!.
He works on his own at Mari-Tech labs, down on the South side. Very
good, says Lamont; he tells her about losing Khan on the corner of
Second and Houston, by the abandoned lot. There's something odd about
the place and he wants her to check it out, find what used to be
there. Farley Claymore is going to get a visit. From the Shadow.

Across the river, the
Mari-Tech labs site, a massive water-pressure test chamber outside.
Entering the chamber, Farley Claymore locks the hatch behind him, to
be startled by a voice from nowhere.

The Shadow demands to know where
the beryllium sphere is. Lamely, Claymore tries to bluff, but the
Shadow tells him he's being manipulated by hypnosis. 'My mind?.'
Well, quite. Claymore tells him it's too late; he loaded the sphere
onto a truck.

The voice demands he take him to it, but instead he
throws a lever to send a torrent of water surging down from the pipes
around the chamber, removing the lever to prevent the valve being
shut-off (As there are identical levers right next to it, this might
be somewhat optimistic, but I digress...)

Pulling a revolver, Farley
looks around desperately as the ominous laughter echoes around the
steel chamber. 'Who do you think you're gonna shoot with that,
Claymore?.' But Claymore has spotted where the water has
parted slightly for the Shadow's boots. As the Shadow makes a run for
it, Claymore lets rip, hitting the invisible vigilante, blood pooling
in the cascading water that rises with every second. Going to the
hatch, Farley turns the wheel to unlock it, shouting out that no-one
controls his mind – there's a new World order coming – and he's
going to be a King. A King!. Exiting the chamber, he locks it,
jamming the lever into the mechanism, trapping the Shadow.

Inside, The crime-fighter
re-emerges from shadow, clutching his wounded shoulder, his face a
mask of pain. Desperately, he tries the wheel, to no avail. Divesting
himself of his sodden cape and shoulder harness, he looks around for
something, anything to help his escape. Spotting the valve array, he
splashes over to try them; nothing doing, they won't even budge an
inch. Suddenly, it comes to him. Margo. Closing his eyes, he
projects his consciousness across town to the City Assessor's office
where even now, Margo sits with some blueprints and paperwork. Margo.
Her name comes to her out of the blue and she reels back in shock.
Margo, I need you.

Things look bleak; Lamont
Cranston is running out of time. Already there's no more than a few
feet of precious air at the top of the chamber. Margo, however is
already barrelling across town in a car, as Lamont is finally
submerged. His fist bangs helplessly against the armoured glass
viewing port in the top of the chamber.

Diving down to the bullet
holes made by Claymore's pistol, he puts a finger through into the
air beyond and takes a breath of much needed air. Swimming across to
the door, he tries it again, but it is stuck fast. Just then, Margo
arrives, rushing up the steps to the chamber to find water streaming
from the bullet holes.

Looking through the porthole in the hatch, she
finds herself looking at Lamont, who mouths 'Open the door' while
miming turning a wheel. Grabbing the lever, she hauls it free from
the wheel and turns the wheel, Lamont following suit from inside.
Suddenly, thousands of gallons of water find themselves with a new
opportunity to see New York and Margo is flung backwards by the
immense forces released. Lamont's limp body flops to the ground and
she turns him over so he can breathe. Casually, she says 'You
called?.' Weakly, Lamont cannot help but laugh.

Unsurprisingly, that night
Lamont's sleep is wracked by nightmares. Hearing this, Nurse Margo
brings him in a bowl of cool water, but he is in a feverish trance of
some kind. With a start, Margo finds herself in Lamont's nightmare,
clad in a sheer silken outfit that billows and ripples around her; a
fireplace billows flame in a vaulted chamber, Lamont in his Ying Ko
personality tells her she's not meant to be there.

The fire erupts
from the grate, surrounding her with a ring of flames.

Turning, she
sees a vision of the armoured Ying Ko, roaring in the heat of battle,
his face splattered with blood. She sees his men cut down their
victims, merciless acts of murder and brutality, a village burning
amidst the slaughter. His blood-lust sated, Ying Ko wipes the warm
liquid from his face...

Lamont slowly comes to to find
Margo gently dabbing his fevered brow with water. She tells him he
was dreaming, but he takes her arm; she saw. Do you have any idea, he
asks her, to have done things you can never forgive yourself for?.
Earnestly, she tells him whoever he was, whatever he did... it's in
the past. Not for him; never for him.

In Khan's sanctum, his Mongol
warriors stand in flanking array, either side of the completed bomb
that is wheeled to their master. We are victorious! he exclaims, and
as victors they will collect the spoils of war. Next, he addresses
Farley Claymore, who takes his handkerchief to the bomb casing in a
gesture of proprietorial pride. Khan will remember each of them,
particularly, he says the only American with genius enough to join
him of his own free will... he claps a comradely hand on Farley's
shoulder before continuing, who saw himself a king in his
kingdom. Nervously, the treacherous Claymore stutters; 'King? Did I
say King?.' before Khan grabs him by the neck.

Maybe not the best
choice of words... No, it wasn't... Because, Farley adds, he
was thinking Prince tops. As Khan manhandles him, he drops his sights
to Duke, then Baron. Before he can reach Esquire, Khan relinquishes
his grip, ordering him to fetch Doctor Lane to assemble the bomb.
With a little time to kill, Shiwan Khan indulges in a spot of posing
with his new toy, uttering pronouncements about the power of God on
Earth, the new Emperor of Mankind. Not one for a quiet night in with
the boys, then...

A shot of the city next* and a
spinning newspaper, just so we know it's made the headlines; CONTESTS
DELAY CHOICE OF NEW CITY CHAIRMAN... Thieves walk away with his
sawmill... oh, and of course Madman Threatens to Blow City
Sky-High, Demands Billions in Ransom!.

Paper boys shout the news
and radio newscasts carry the story and it even reaches the Cranston
mansion, Margo reading the paper in horror before trotting
downstairs, greeting Russell, the Butler in passing as he bears
breakfast. As it's her breakfast he smoothly alters course to
follow the intended recipient downstairs where Lamont stands by a
window in the vast living room.

*Well, a model, but you get
the drift.

Hurrying up to Lamont, she
informs him Khan has demanded works of art, famous jewels and even
gold. Find Khan and they'll find the bomb, he's sure of it – what
did she find out about the vacant lot?. It was, she tells him, the
site of the former Hotel Monolith. It was finished nearly ten years
ago, but never opened. The Monolith... he vaguely remembers
it. Apparently, that's the only way anyone remembers it.
Before it was completed, Margo adds, the developer went bankrupt and
committed suicide. The last record shows a sale to a Far-Eastern
buyer. So when was it torn down?; she doesn't know. Nobody does. She
made calls to some of the newspapers, but all anyone remembers of it
was the events leading to the sale. Everybody seems to remember it
was torn down, but no-one can remember when, or by whom. Smiling,
Lamont adds 'Or IF...'

The Sunshine Cab pulls up
opposite the derelict lot and Lamont takes another look at the site,
Margo at his side. He can't believe Khan did it. Did what?, she asks,
but Lamont is entranced by the sight that now greets him as he uses
his power to see what others cannot.

Bit by bit, floor by floor, the
illusion of empty space is stripped away to his eyes alone; a
majestic, magnificent Deco hotel building rising before him. It's
beautiful. Margo sees nothing and, to prove a point, Lamont grabs a
passer-by, asking him the name of the building that's right there.
Shaking himself free, the man calls Lamont a lunatic and stalks off.
Khan has hypnotized an entire city!. They don't see it!; none of them
see it. But Lamont sees it. Turning to the bemused Margo, he tells
her she and Shrevnitz will receive instructions and are to follow
them exactly.

That night and the rain pours
from the mouth of the gargoyle atop a high building. (Look close enough and you can see Batman left his sandwiches on it) In Khan's
sanctum atop the Monolith, Dr. lane opens the casing of the bomb as
Farley taunts him for not being nicer to him - until Khan orders him to
cease his tormenting and directs Lane to activate the bomb.

Doing
this, he closes the cover. The Warlord wants the timer set for two
hours and the handy Nixie tube counter begins the count-down.

The
bomb is hoisted aloft to hang menacingly like an unpleasant ceiling
decoration. To Claymore, Khan asks if he is certain of his ability to
duplicate the bomb. Absolutely no problem. That makes Dr. lane
obsolete, says Khan, directing his guards to secure the Doctor in a
room; he will die at the hands of his own invention. Obsequiously,
the oily Claymore sidles up to his master and suggests they get out
of there. Khan replies there's an aeroplane waiting to take them all
to safety. In one hour. The countdown continues, inexorably, second
after second.

At the Shadow's control room,
the operative writes a message in invisible ink on a card, stamping
it with an invisible seal. Outside in the pouring rain, the message
is handed to a cyclist as he passes, another message is then smoothly
passed to one cycling in the other direction.

A message slides under
the door of the Shrevnitz home as Moe sits reading the paper with his
wife. Opening the envelope he finds a blank card, which suddenly
reveals its message to him, the ink swirling into view. He's to go to
Houston and Second Avenue immediately. Mrs. Shrevnitz asks if it's
another one of those things from the bowling league. He answers with
a 'Hmm-Hmm.'

Margo Lane has received the other message, the
instructions identical. She rushes out to find a cab. No sooner has
she left when the message on her card swirls and vanishes. The two
guards outside the Hotel Monolith stand there un-noticed by
passers-by. Invisible.

The splashes of unseen feet rushing towards
them causes them to draw swords, but the Shadow leaps from the night
to drop them both with his fists. You cannot fight what you didn't
see.

With lightning throwing his
shadow across the sumptuous lobby, the Shadow moves swiftly through
it and up the wide velvet stairs, throwing his cape out like an
avenging angel to stand atop them in full view now, cape billowing as
if it had a life of its own.

To the flashing of the lightning and the
thunder outside, he strides through the abandoned hotel, laughter
resonant through the hallways. Above, Shiwan Khan senses the presence
of Ying Ko. Panicked, Farley exclaims 'The Shadow!, where?.' Not
here, you idiot – in the building. As ever concerned with his
own skin, Claymore asks if Khan can detect the Shadow's mood; is he
still mad after their little, misunderstanding yesterday?.
Tossing the traitor a Tommy gun, Khan orders him to find and kill
him. 'Kill him?; me?.'
Amending the order,
Khan now includes everyone. Farley asks if he couldn't just stay and
help Khan. He couldn't.

Drawing
his sword, the large Mongol leads the group sent to find the Shadow,
a highly doubtful Farley Claymore in the rear. They reach the stairs
overlooking the ornate lobby and the Shadow's ringing laugh checks
them. Farley takes the torch from one and directs them to go that
way, while he sneaks off into a darkened and vaulted ballroom. The
doors slam shut behind him and he realises he is not alone. 'Did
ya think you'd never see me again, Claymore?.' Shining
the torch around, Claymore's torch throws the Shadow's shadow against
a wall.

'Im right
here!'Farley
blasts away with the Thompson. We've been here before. 'Alll
around you...' again,
the stooge unloads on an empty wall... again, the Shadow pops up;
'Everywhere around
you.' A manic
Farley ends up pirouetting, blazing away while laughing hysterically.

Inevitably, he runs out of bullets. He resorts to name-calling;
coward, chicken, sissy... he's lost it totally as he challenges the
Shadow to come out and fight like a man.

A dark, miasmic cloud of
shadow then begins to obscure the ceiling, Farley sinking to his
knees in gibbering fear. Turning, he sees the Shadow standing behind
him and is hauled up into the air, gurgling with infantile laughter
and frothing at the mouth.

The Shadow is repelled by this creature,
throwing him down and telling him to get out of his sight. Out in the
corridor, Claymore looks for a way out; a red 'EXIT' sign
materialises on a glass panel in front of him 'There's
your exit, Claymore...' Farley
rushes towards it, crashing through the glass and falling down into
the lobby, smashing through a coffee table to
the reverberating laughter of the Shadow.

Outside,
Moe and Margo stand under umbrellas in the rain. Ironically, he says;
'You know what I like about this job?; the excitement.'

The
Shadow marches into Shiwan Khan's sanctum, the bomb hanging
menacingly above. Mockingly, Khan holds his hands out as if fitting
them for handcuffs, but the Shadow is not in the mood for levity,
telling his adversary he is finished before drawing his automatics.
Khan presses a button, sending the floor tipping crazily, the Shadow
thrown off-balance.

Next, Khan sends the Phurba slicing into the
attack, the Shadow skewered by his old nemesis. In a paroxym* of
agony, he struggles to remove the dagger from his shoulder. Khan
calls the Phurba and it drags the Shadow across the opulent gilded
floor against some steps where it does its best to bore itself into
his brain.

It takes all his strength to hold it, but the Phurba
throws it – and him – high into the air, slamming him against a
pillar, to the delight of Khan, who is enjoying the show. The
dagger throws the Shadow onto the now-rotating floor, where he lies,
dazed, weakened.

*Hey,
it's Expensive Word Week; that'll
be $10.

Khan
voices the obvious; he is losing his concentration. He speaks even
as the Shadow's face melts away into that of Lamont Cranston. The
war-lord tells him his mind is too weak and the Phurba sprouts arms
and legs, crouching there like a metal scorpion.

Lamont tries to gain
control of the dagger, but ends up on his back again, body rigid with
the effort of restraining the deadly magical blade.

Exulting in his
predicament, Khan walks over to gloat. Look
at you!... can't even control yourself – how can you hope to
control the Phurba?. The
point of the dagger draws blood across Lamont's throat, but then he
closes his eyes – and releases it. To Khan's bewilderment, the
Phurba stays in mid-air. Cranston has mastered it!. It turns to face
Khan – Lamont's eyes snap open, now an eerie silver – and the
Phurba flashes across to bury itself deep in Khan's gut.

With
Khan mortally wounded, his control over the city goes; the Monolith
is suddenly visible; Moe and Margo staggered to see the building
seeming to suddenly spring from nowhere. In his room, Reinhardt Lane
is freed from his trance, with no idea where he is. Above,
Lamont springs to his feet as Khan wrenches the Phurba from his body,
his scream sending shockwaves that shatter the windows around the
chamber. Stumbling, he recovers enough strength to make a dash for
it, darting behind some curtains. Lamont charges after him, to find
he has entered Temujin's silver coffin once more. Forcing it open, he
finds it empty!. He enters, looking around to see a tasseled rope.

Pulling this sends him through the trap-door Khan used for his
escape, down through a chute to find himself in the laundry. He draws
his guns, ready for a fight. Ahead, he sees Khan crouching in a
storeroom and gives chase while in another part of the hotel, Margo
is re-united with her father, bumping into him on the stairs. He
wants to know what's going on, but she decides to save it for later,
sending Moe for the Police.

In
a mirror storage area, Lamont bumps into Bruce Lee coming the other
wa... sorry, I mean Lamont spots Khan and fires, but in a twist on his own,
earlier trick the bullet shatters a mirror.

Up in Khan's sanctum,
Margo leads her dad to the bomb, an
hour left on the timer.
He's impressed by the workmanship, asking who did it. She tells him;
he did.

Lamont moves further through the mirrors, his pistols questing for
their target as, upstairs, Dr. Lane cuts through a wire.

Oops; it
sends the timer spinning crazily, instead of the hour they had, there
are just two minutes. Twisting
the ends of the wire back together stops it at two minutes, the
countdown continuing from there, but the bomb drops suddenly -
rolling off across the floor to disappear down the hall.

With Margo and Dr. Lane in
pursuit, the bomb rolls down the corridor like a massive pinball,
Margo leading Reinhardt down some steps. They find themselves below
the bomb and go up some curved stairs to try to reach it again, only
to end up diving for it as the heavy device rolls down the same
stairs.

Dr. Lane goes over the rail and Margo falls down some stairs,
narrowly missing being crushed as the bomb continues inexorably,
crashing through the elevator grille and sending it crashing down
across the shaft, coming to rest there, perilously suspended above
the dizzying drop. (Actually a pretty poor example of fake
perspective, the drop below the bomb seemingly at an angle; the
elevator would have to change direction to actually use the shaft.)

Bravely,
Dr. Lane crawls out on the uncertain platform – stupidly, Margo
follows him, nearly sending the whole lot crashing down with her
extra weight. There are less than twenty seconds left. Thankfully,
the grille holds, just!. Looking over the sphere, a panicky Margo
asks her Father which wire to cut. He can't remember!; pick one!, she
shouts. Oh what the
hell; it's usually green... he's
on the verge of cutting the red wire – colour-blind, remember? -
when she quickly grabs the actual green wire, yanking it free qith
one second to spare. Phew!. She shows him the difference and he
promises to try to remember.

Lamont's
search for Khan amidst the bewildering maze of mirrors continues. The
Mongol Warlord appears, asking what Lamont is doing as the mirrors
begin to fracture and break. Shaking violently with the effort, the
vigilante uses his psychic powers to shatter the mirrors and expose
Khan.

Khan is flung
around, helpless in the storm of fragmented glass. Standing in the
eye of that storm is Lamont Cranston, transformed now into an
otherworldly and grim avenger. A shard of glass rises from the floor
at his beckoning, floating in the air before slashing across to come
to rest in Khan's forehead.

By now, the sudden appearance
of a long-forgotten building has galvanised the town, a crowd
gathering, press reporters snapping photos of the uncanny event.

Even
the Commissioner, Barth Wainwright has turned out at the spectacle.
He does the only thing he can do; take a slug from his hip-flask.

Shiwan
Khan awakes to find himself in a strait-jacket in a padded cell. The
door opens and a doctor enters. Khan bids him to approach, which he
does, then to look at him.
He does this also.

Look
into my eyes... yes... release me at once. Instead
of complying in a hypnotic state, the doctor laughs; No,we won;t have
any of that Mister Khan – let's have a look at those stitches,
shall we?. Stitches?. Turning Khan's head, we see a massive operation
scar.

To save his life, they removed a section of the frontal lobe;
he'll never miss it – it's a part nobody ever uses. Unless you
believe in telepathy!. He leaves Khan in his cell, an orderly locking
behind him. Frantic, powerless, Khan yells at him to come back,
insisting he is the last descendant of Ghengis Khan.

As the Doctor
signs the committal form, we see he is wearing an all-too familiar
ring... he walks away, the other patients insisting they are Houdini,
Theodore Roosevelt, Napoleon, Josephine... Babe Ruth... Henry VIII...
Shakespeare...

At long last, Lamont Cranston kisses Margo Lane passionately before

walking away. She calls out to him, how will he know where she is?. He turns

around with a smile; 'I'll know.' Lamont walks around the corner of the alley

towards his Sanctum and we see the Shadow's face turned towards us for one

last time, a sparkle of mischief in them.

The Shadow was originally a radio serial, first hitting the airwaves of

America in 1931.

The character narrated mystery stories on the Street & Smith's Detective

Story Hour. Fantastically successful, fans soon wrote in asking for adventures

featuring the Shadow himself.

"THE INVINCIBLE SHIWAN KHAN" A SHADOW NOVEL FROM 1940

Walter Gibson, a magician and former ghost writer for Houdini wrote a

monthly series of pulp novels, which ran until 1949. It was the best-selling

pulp magazine of all time. From 1937, Orson Welles and, later other actors

portrayed the Shadow in a new radio show focused on the character. The

show ran until 1955.

(ABOVE, BELOW) ORIGINAL MOVIE POSTERS

There
were several movie adaptations made in the 1940's and '50's, but the
1994 Universal production was given a $40,000,000 budget and state of
the art special effects and production to match.

DIRECTOR RUSSELL MULCAHY ON SET

It was seen as a
flop, grossing just $48,000,000 worldwide. The planned franchise was
abandoned. The reasons for this are usually given as lacklustre plot
and screenplay, but this film is a favourite of mine and has been for
decades.

THE TEASER POSTER

ALEC BALDWIN PUBLICITY SHOT AS LAMONT CRANSTON/THE SHADOW

Alec Baldwin is superb as Lamont Cranston/The Shadow,
playing it light, with a sense of humour throughout.

JOHN LONE IS SHIWAN KHAN

John Lone's
Shiwan Khan – a character resurrected from the pulps – is by
turns affable and menacing and plays the over-the-top part
wonderfully.

PENELOPE ANN MILLER PLAYS MARGO LANE

Penelope Ann Miller scintillates as Margo Lane; sexy and
desirable in every scene, but genuinely useful to the Shadow as
required. The rest of the cast do their jobs well too; Peter Boyle as
Moe Shrevnitz makes a decent sidekick.

That
this film failed to do better is partly due to strong competition
that year; The Lion King and The Mask both hit our
screens in 1994 and made more than a dent in The Shadow's
profits. The Shadow was the inspiration for Batman and it shows; one
to watch back to back with the 1989 outing for the Caped Crusader...
highly recommended; a treasure.

When
Moe's Taxi races along, watch for the skid marks from previous takes.

During
the scene where the Mongol Warriors attack Dr.Lane's lab, several
fires break out; these are clearly just pyrotechnic fire pots placed
around the workbenches, no attempt is made to conceal this.

During
the Chinese kitchen scene a studio prop number is visible chalked on
the underside of an overturned chair.

STUDIO STILL FROM THE PRESS PACK

Some
of the cars in The Shadow are anachronistic; it's set in the late
1930's, yet – for example, a 1946 De Soto Custom and a 1946 Dodge
make fleeting appearances.

When
Shiwan Khan hypnotizes the sailor into jumping from the Empire State,
we see the sailor on the edge of a dizzying, sheer and vertical drop
to ground level. The Empire state has a protruding deck some way
below the observation deck, on which spotlights are mounted. It is an
effect, probably a matte painting. Later on, the actual Empire State
is seen and is noticeably different. Also, the security fence wasn't
added until the 1940's.

The
bullet holes in the water chamber change sides magically between
shots; first Lamont is shown breathing air from one then swimming
across to the hatch. When Margo arrives shortly afterwards,
the bullet holes are streaming water, beside the hatch.

STUDIO STILLS FROM THE PRESS PACK

The
typography on the newspaper is a bit rushed on close inspection;
also, the text of the story beneath the Khan headline to the right
bears no relation to the actual story. This is probably because the
film was made before the Blu-Ray era; nobody thought anyone would
ever notice.

During
the scene in Khan's sanctum where the Shadow confronts him, Khan
presses a button to set the floor in motion; during this sequence, a
stand-in is clearly visible for Khan.

When
the Beryllium Sphere crashes into the lift shaft, the shaft itself
below the sphere is a bad example of false perspective; for the shaft
to work, the elevator would have to travel at differing angles.

At
the very end, the Shadow turns to face us; his eyebrows are clearly
stuck on to a webbing material.

When
Claymore shoots the invisible Shadow, we see a pool of blood; seconds
later its gone, with none on the now-visible lamont or any sign of
injury.

The
Sergeant who delivers the report from the crime scene at the museum
is a Shadow agent; but his ring switches between right and left hand
in different shots.

As
all that is visible of the Shadow when invisible is his
shadow... where does it go when he ducks into the alleyway to hide
from the Mongol Warrior?; it should remain on the pavement, yet it
disappears – and then re-appears with him.

When
the waiter brings Miss Lane the '1928 Rothschild' not only is it
already uncorked, but the label is wrong. No-one with any education
would ever accept an already-opened bottle. A genuine Rothschild
carried a different label entirely. The film-makers may have been
aware of the deficiency as the label is never shown facing the
camera.

ALEC BALDWIN'S 'HERO' RING FROM THE SHADOW

It
has been said that the Shadow’s automatics, nicknamed ‘Silver
Heat’ are anachronistic in that they are customised .45 Win Mag LAR
Grizzly pistols. Although strictly accurate, we feel this does the
armourers a dis-service; LAR gave the pistols a vintage look by
extending the frames and slides, then nickel plated the weapons to
give them their distinctive look. Two sets were made, plus rubber
stunt pistols. The end result are striking pistols that have the look
of 1911’s with a fearsome look that enhances the character of the
Shadow.

The
'hall of mirrors scene' was intended to be a longer sequence, with
Khan showing Cranston images of his own violent past to weaken his
resolve. An earthquake destroyed the set and the scene was cut
accordingly due to the time and expense of re-dressing. The scene may
have been inspired by the Shadow novel 'Room of Doom' from
1942.

COVER ART FOR 'ROOM OF DOOM'.

THE SHADOW PINBALL MACHINE, RELEASED AS A TIE-IN.

The
line "The weed of crime bears bitter fruit" is taken from
the original radio series. At the end of every episode, after the
credits, The Shadow would say "The weed of crime bears bitter
fruit. Crime does not pay! The Shadow knows," and then
laughs his trademark laugh.

A SET OF SHADOW RINGS ON THEIR BACKING CARD

Llama
cigarettes are themselves a parody of Camel cigarettes; the slogan
'I'd walk a mile for a Camel!.' was altered to 'I'd climb a mountain
for a Llama!.'

PROP CIGARETTES FROM THE SHADOW

SHADOW BOARD GAME TIE-IN

The
Phurba is the exact same dagger used in The Golden Child
(1986).

As
Lamont and Margo finally kiss, look behind her at the truck across
the road; it bears the name of Russell Mulcahy, the film's director.
A sign with 'Baldwin' on it is also clearly visible in the Times
Square scene.